


A Love to Transcend Time

by VastDelusion



Series: Spooktober [4]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Attics, Baz is not a vampire in this one, Baz's Violin was mentioned enough times to actually be a character, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Halloween, House Cleaning, Immortal Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Immortality, Immortals, M/M, Penny's usual rationality, Simon's usual suspicion of Baz, SnowBaz, Spooktober, The Mage (Simon Snow) Is Actually a Decent Father?, death of relative, family photos, old cars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26524660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VastDelusion/pseuds/VastDelusion
Summary: Simon's grandma just passed, and his dad is making him sort through the junk in her attic that she obviously hasn't touched in years, which is an evening he'd rather spend with his boyfriend. During the incredibly boring chore, he finds a box of old photos. One of them is a picture of his grandma back in the '50s in America, which even Simon can say is pretty cool. However, upon further inspection, the bloke in the background looks an awful lot like Baz...
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Spooktober [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920424
Kudos: 32





	A Love to Transcend Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Spooktober series! If you would like to request a pairing/prompt, feel free to do so in the comments~! Thanks for reading!!! ❤❤

There were a million things that Simon Snow Salisbury would rather be doing than cleaning out a dusty old attic. Spending the evening with his boyfriend was one of them, kicking back and watching scary movies on the couch or watching him play his violin--because _of course_ he could play the violin, the pretentious, perfect prat. But, _no_ , he was stuck up there, suffocated by the musty air with a hundred pounds of dust weighing down his lungs. 

His dad made him do it; he would never do anything like that on his own accord. His grandma had recently died, and while that sounded sad, he didn't know her very well, and the memories he had of her weren't all that great. 

He didn't see his dad doing anything to help (and she was his _mother_ ) but when Simon complained, he didn't get anything out of it. And Baz couldn't help because he was allegedly "allergic to dust." Simon wouldn't have minded because Baz sneezed like a kitten. It was a real thing, he discovered, rather than girls pretending just to look cute. You wouldn't guess by looking at the guy, tall and suave and beautiful, but he did.

Thoughts of Baz were a welcome distraction from the piles of useless stuff stored up in the attic. Who would've known that practically all old people were hoarders? Baz's dad was terrible about it, too, and he was no spring chicken. 

There was a little bit of everything; an old sofa, one of those big televisions, newspapers, a couple of mattresses, Christmas decorations--so, _so_ many Christmas decorations--boxes of old clothes, and a bunch of junk. Simon wasn't sure if he was standing in a flea market or an old lady's attic.

He sorted the junk into piles: garbage, unsure, and charity stores. He was sweating and considered taking a break until he noticed it. 

An old curtain, motheaten and yellowed from age, hung over a large wardrobe. Simon's curiosity piqued, wondering what strange objects lied in its midst. Perhaps there was an entire treasure trove in there, and, because he found it, Simon would receive it from his grandma's will. That way, he could buy his boyfriend ridiculously expensive presents, too. He shook the telenovela-esque thought from his mind and approached it.

He grabbed an end of the old curtain and tore it off the wardrobe, like a fancy waiter ripping a tablecloth gracefully off a table, except it wasn't graceful in the slightest, and he got covered in 20 years worth of dust. Maybe he should've gotten a shot or two before venturing up there. 

He opened the old wardrobe--he could hear Baz's voice in his head correcting him, _"It's an armoire, Snow"_ \--and glanced around it as if he had entered the Cave of Wonders, only to see more clothes and a couple of old boxes, the smells of mildew and Simon's disappointment released into the already contaminated air. 

The label on the boxes were interesting, however, and he decided to take a look. Old pictures were always kind of interesting, almost like a portal into another time. 

He opened the lid to the box gingerly and began to rifle through. There were photo albums and loose photos tucked away in the box, and Simon was slightly intrigued. It was better than being bored, anyway. 

There was a lot of different pictures in there, all Polaroids and none shaky. There was one of a young woman (his grandma?) by a lake, a couple of family photos, one with his grandma holding his dad as a baby, a couple of little kids on a tire swing tied to a tree with a rope, and one of his grandma in a spotted dress, standing in front of a yellow car, a brightly-colored diner sitting in the background. 

It was beautiful and perfectly kept, like it had been taken the day before instead of 70 years ago. Simon looked over the other cars in the lot (Baz would absolutely nerd out over them.) (He really, _really_ loved cars.) and saw a man standing next to his vehicle that looked familiar. Like, beefed with him for a few years, made out with him once in a movie theatre, cuddled with him on the couch, and watched his skilled hands play his violin familiar. 

It was a coincidence. It had to be. He just looked... _exactly_ like Baz. Despite him being in the background of the photo, his similarity to his boyfriend was uncanny. The shoulder-length, jet black hair pushed back slightly, the stupidly expensive floral jacket that he could have sworn he'd seen Baz wear once, his long legs, his thin waist, his jawline, his shoulders, the smoldering look in his deep, grey eyes that reminded Simon of a storm. 

It was a prank. It must have been, and his dad and Baz were in on it. The thing was, the two were hopeless with Photoshop, and the idea of Baz and his dad getting along with... _anything,_ really, would be a sign from heaven. Could it have been Penny? No, she wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face, or take a single step into that attic.

If it wasn't a prank... This picture was around 70 years old, and Baz looked exactly as he was, when Simon saw him mere hours before. He always joked about him being a vampire, which Baz got really salty about, but Simon thought it was because he was self-conscious about his looks. (Why should've he been?) (He was gorgeous.) Maybe he actually _was_ a vampire.

He pocketed the picture, ensuring not to crease it or damage it in any way. He would ask Baz about it later and see if it was truly a prank. 

But, first, he needed to talk to Penny.

He shook the imaginary dirt off him and climbed down the precarious ladder that led into the 2nd floor hallway. The moment his feet hit the floor he was calling her.

It rang twice before she answered.

"Hey, Si. You done cleaning the attic yet?"

"Um, no, but you need to come see this." 

"What? Is it your grandma's priceless jewel collection that no one knew about?"

"No--"

"An endless supply of trackies?"

He would have felt offended if it were anyone else. "No!"

"Ooh, is it a book?"

"Just get over here, Pen." 

"Ok, ok, don't get your pants in a twist." 

Twenty minutes later, Penny strode in through the front door, not bothering to knock--it was only Simon in there, anyway--and joined him on the couch.

"All right, what is so urgent that you needed me to come all the way over here?" 

Simon handed her the picture. 

"Yeah? What about it?" 

"See the guy in the background, next to that old car?"

"Yeah--Oh my God. That looks just like Baz." 

"Yeah, doesn't it?" he exclaimed. 

"You could have just sent me a picture, you know. Texting exists." 

"I know, Pen, but hear me out. If Baz--" 

"Whoa, I'm gonna stop you right there. That isn't Baz." 

"Penny, I know Baz when I see him. Trust me."

She gave him a skeptical look over her glasses, then sighed resignedly. She would give Simon that one; he'd been crushing on the bloke for years. 

"Ok, let's say it _is_ Baz, then. When do you think that picture was taken?" 

"I'm not sure. The '50s, probably." 

"Then explain how he hasn't aged a day since that picture." 

"I don't know! Maybe he's a vam--" 

"Simon," she sighed. " I really don't have time for your conspiracy theories." 

"It's not a conspiracy theory. If that's not it, then you tell me."

She sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Why don't you show Baz and ask him?"

"Because if it _is_ him, he'll brush it off and say something like, 'Wow, that looks a lot like me.'" 

"Yeah, because this isn't Baz. He's just some lookalike. A doppelganger, or a relative, perhaps." 

"Penny, look." He pointed at "Baz's" face. "Look at his nose. See the little crook? That's _exactly_ where--" 

"Okay, Simon, that doesn't mean anything." 

"Doesn't it, though?" 

"Ok. Call him, and we'll see." 

"All right, I will," he challenged and pulled out his phone. 

It rang once before Baz picked up.

"Yes, Snow?" 

Simon rolled his eyes before answering. "You need to come over right now." 

"Why?" he asked, an edge to his voice. "Did something happen?" 

"No, no! Nothing like that. I just found something interesting that I want you to look at." 

Baz sighed, although Simon couldn't tell if it was from exasperation or relief. "Ok. I'll be over in a moment." 

"Ok, bye. Love you." 

"Love you too." 

Simon hung up, ignoring Penny's nearly audible eye-roll.

His car pulled up in the driveway about five minutes later, walking all suave and perfect with his endless legs that Simon almost had forgotten about the picture. 

He was identical. It must have been him, because he saw all the old, creepy portraits of Baz's ancestors on his walls, like in a haunted house. None of them looked nearly as perfect as he did. 

"Yes, Snow? What is in so desperate need of my attention?" 

Simon paused, wondering if he should have called Baz over there. Baz impatiently raised his dark eyebrows and Simon snatched the photo from the coffee table. 

"This." 

"Oh, look at all these. There's an El Camino, a Bel-Air--" he suddenly paused. 

"That bloke there looks an awful lot like you, doesn't he?" 

"Yes... Uncanny." 

"Is that you, Baz?" 

Baz looked between the two of them, his eyes lingering on Simon a little longer. Penny's eyebrows shot up so far that Simon thought they'd escape, for a moment.

He bit his lip. "I..." 

"Did you somehow travel back in time, or... Are you _actually_ a vampire?" 

"No, I'm not a vampire," he said crossly. "I'm... I'm an immortal." 

Uncomfortable silence lingered in the air longer than any of them would like.

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"You would think I was crazy. _'Hey, Simon, now that I'm your boyfriend, I have to tell you something. I'm an immortal being that has lived for over a hundred years.'_ " 

"Wait. _A hundred years?_ " 

Penny decided to leave them at it as Baz looked down at the floor. 

"Baz. Tyrannus Basilton Pitch. Look at me." 

Simon took his pale hand in his, his fingers much longer and thinner than his. 

"You are literally incapable of scaring me away. Look at you. You chose me, for _some_ reason, and I chose you. So what we have a..."

"A 90-year age gap?" 

"Well, yeah, that. So what?" 

"You're going to die, someday, and I will live on." 

Simon pressed Baz's fingers to his lips. "Then look for me. Whatever form I take, look for me." 

Baz smiled slightly. "I don't know how I survived all these years without you." 

Simon grinned, his gaze incapable of tearing from Baz's stormy grey eyes. 

"Oh, for the love of magic, just get a room already!" Penny shouted from the kitchen. 

Simon laughed. "Well, gotta do what the lady says." 

Baz hit him playfully on the shoulder, the tender mood dissipated into the musty air. 

But, he didn't release Simon's hand.

He would never let go of it, he decided. Simon was his forever, and he decided he was going to make well to ensure it remained that way.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Spooktober series! If you would like to request a pairing/prompt, feel free to do so in the comments~! Thanks for reading!!! ❤❤


End file.
